


chasing the winds that drive you to me

by silversparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Slash, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversparrow/pseuds/silversparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry starts to grow wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chasing the winds that drive you to me

You dream of them late one night; long, flowing, elegant,  _beautiful_ . They carry you out the house and you give quick little flaps until you’re right outside Zayn’s window, and you laugh when you knock three times on the glass (he’s always sleeping like a baby and you wish you can stay and watch him forever). Zayn doesn’t stir and you shoot up in the sky (cold needles on your skin but you’re surprised they don’t hurt), wings tucked in, face looking up. You swim amongst the clouds, sit against the stars, tiptoe on the moon and back again (the day never seems to break), and it’s when you decide to jump from the moon for the last time that your eyes open and there’s an ache in your back. You shift to your side and run your fingers on the skin, tender and raw (practice has finally taken its toll), and you wince when you press down. You lie on your side and look out the window until the sun comes up (the pain doesn’t go away and you’re not sure what’s wrong).   
  
::   
  
At breakfast, everyone’s being rowdy except for you. Niall’s hoarded all the waffles and Liam and Louis are fighting over the syrup bottle (you’ve never minded the noise but they’re especially grating today). Zayn’s still asleep. You poke at your eggs and try to stop the pulsating on your back, and it’s Liam who’s the first to notice (“You alright, mate?”) You nod dismissively and drop the fork in the plate (“I’m not very hungry”) and you walk back to your room (you can feel their eyes on your back and they only add to the pain). You’re too distracted to see Zayn and you bump him on the shoulder (the pain wakes you up and it’s all you can do not to scream) and he grabs you by the wrist when you try to walk past him (“Hey, what’s wrong?”) You shake your head and break his grip, and you lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day (you wish you can tell him but you don’t know).   
  
::   
  
There’s a performance tonight and you take an hour wrapping bandages around your chest (you’ve tried rubbing alcohol and ice packs but nothing seems to work). You look at yourself in the mirror and you shake your head (you look like an idiot) but you’re desperate and you don’t want to make a scene. Zayn knocks on the door (“Harry, we’re ready to go”) and you pile on three layers clothes and zip up two jackets before you open the door and meet him with a smile.   
  
::   
  
Louis can tell something’s wrong and you can see it in his eyes. Everyone’s jumping around and throwing their arms out but you’re only walking back and forth, arms too close to your body (it makes you look lost). You’re glad the stage is large and you can put some distance between you and the boys, but Louis always seem to end up on your side (his eyes are full of worry and you try to look away), and when he wraps an arm around your shoulder, you whimper into the microphone and you’re scared everyone heard (but nobody notices and everyone’s having fun except for you). You tough out Louis’s hold until the song ends (it hurts, it really hurts) and you duck out from under him and fade into the back. Your legs take you backstage and you tune out everyone you pass (“Harry, is everything alright? Where are you going?”) until you reach the dressing room and lock the door.   
  
::   
  
Paul’s not happy and he gives you a lecture (he doesn’t understand and you wish he’d just shut up) and he sends you off to your room. You drag your feet and keep your arms firm on your side because they hurt when they swing and you sigh when notice Zayn looking at you from the sofa (you don’t want to see the look in his eyes because it makes you feel guilty).   
  
::   
  
It’s impossible to sleep on your back and you keep the bandages on (your skin’s not exposed and it helps a little), and you stare at the wall, tracing shapes and patterns to lull you back to sleep (but it doesn’t work and you spend the entire night wishing the pain would stop).   
  
::   
  
You wake up with a headache and it’s a struggle to sit up (every muscle burns and you should have taken painkillers last night). Even yawning hurts. You look down and see the bandage still intact, and you wonder how you managed to sleep (probably for an hour or two because you feel more groggy than usual). You don’t dwell on it for long because when you turn around and look at the mattress, you jump to your feet, eyes wide and heart racing, and back away a few steps, terror filling your body. There’s blood on your sheets (two big, angry circles right in the center) and your hands immediately search for your back. The bandage is wet and you’re scared (fucking scared that something’s growing and you don’t know what the fuck is going on) and you scramble and tear the sheet off, your eyes beginning to sting. You try to take the stain out with soap in the bathroom but it’s set and you’re panicking (what if someone sees you bleeding out of your back), so you gather it up and stuff it in the trash bin.   
  
::   
  
The headache grows into a migraine and you’re throwing up your insides in the toilet when you hear Zayn’s voice from outside your door (“Harry, can I come in?”). You wipe your mouth with your arm and slam the door closed and Zayn’s reduced to a murmur. You ignore the feeling of blood running down your back because something’s pushing its way out of your throat and the rest of last night’s dinner ends up on the floor (it’s disgusting and your throat burns and you wish you can take a pill and everything will be better). You take a second to wipe it clean and you drop your underwear and take off the bandages before you turn on the shower. You wait until the water’s warm and you tentatively take a step inside, and when you turn around and let the water run down your back, the pain simmers down (it’s soothing and all of a sudden, your back’s not angry anymore). You watch the water turn red around your feet and you get on your knees and hug yourself tight, and it’s then that you let the tears escape.   
  
::   
  
It’s become an issue when you spend the entire week in your room. You miss out on two performances and a signing and management’s heavy on your back (you can feel their voices slicing you open more than you already are). You nod and make up excuses (“I have a migraine — a fever — food poisoning”) and when they check your temperature (102 degrees), you’re off the hook, but they want you to go to a hospital and get you checked out. You say no and tell them all you need is a bit of rest (you don’t want doctors prodding your back) and Zayn stays with you in your room while you watch television shows with a damp towel on your forehead (neither of you speak but it’s nice to have his company).   
  
::   
  
Zayn’s voice wakes you and you scramble to your feet, heart beating wildly (“ _Shit!_  What the  _fuck_  happened to you?”) Zayn’s against the wall, eyes wide, scared, and you see blood on your sheets again, much bigger than the first time (the bandages didn’t work and you thought they’d closed up already). Your mind’s going fifty miles an hour and you don’t notice them at first, and it’s not until you pick up the sheet and turn around to throw it in the trash that Zayn makes a distressed sound (“ _Fuck_ , Harry!”), and you run into the bathroom and look at your back in the mirror (it’s just cuts on your skin and you don’t know why he’s reacting that way). Your stomach drops and your heart skips a beat when you see them — bones, about an inch long, jutting from your shoulder blades, covered in tiny feathers stained with red (like a newborn bird’s). Your back’s covered with dried blood and you’re shaking (you’re terrified and why is this happening to you) and you look at Zayn making his way towards you (he’s shaking too). He calls your name but you don’t know how to respond (you’re sorry you’re a freak please don’t tell anyone), and when he reaches the doorway, you push him out and lock the door (you don’t want to see the look on his face because it hurts). He’s banging on the door (“Harry, please open up!”) and you’re on the floor, lower back against the wall hugging your knees, and you tell him to leave you alone (you don’t want him to see you like this). It takes him a while to stop and you try not to cry, but when he leaves and closes the door behind him (“I’m sorry”), you pick yourself up, unwrap the bandages, and slip inside the shower. The water doesn’t soothe you anymore (the pain sears your body and you’re scared it won’t go away) but you still let the tears fall (it hurts like hell and you wish someone can tell you what’s going on).   
  
::   
  
You give the bandages one more try and you yell out when the bones start to bend (they’re still sensitive and your back’s still inflamed). You reach a hand to touch them and you feel the soft feathers brushing against your skin (you’re growing wings and there’s no way to hide them) and you get back in the shower when your back starts bleeding again (it’s scary how much blood you’re losing).   
  
::   
  
The boys don’t see you all day (you reckon Zayn’s told them to leave you alone and you wish you can see him and say thank you). You’re dizzy the moment you wake up and your stomach’s growling (you can’t look at food because it makes you want to throw up), but you can’t let them see, not just yet (you don’t want to see that look on Zayn’s face ever again). You find a chocolate bar in your drawer and you spend the rest of the night on your stomach watching old reruns (the bed feels too empty and you wish Zayn was there to keep you company).   
  
::   
  
They grow an inch longer but your back’s stopped bleeding, and when you touch them, they don’t hurt anymore (not as much as before but the sting still makes you wince). You take out two belts from your closet and strap them tight around your body (the pain makes you bare your teeth but it’s worth it).   
  
::   
  
For the first time in days, you let the boys in your room and you try to explain to them what’s going on (Louis wants to laugh but your face tells him not to and it’s unnerving to see Niall without a smile). You take your off your shirt and undo the belts when you see the skeptical looks on their faces, and when you turn around, you hear gasps and the scrambling of feet and you feel vulnerable (you’re a freak and this is not normal), but nobody says anything except for Zayn (“Does it hurt?”). You shake your head (a lie) and you tell him he can touch them if he wants. The bones twitch when they feel the fingers closing around them and you look at him over your shoulder (his eyes are full of pity and curiosity and you wish he doesn’t have to see you this way). He runs a finger down its length (the rustling of the feathers is soft but you hear them loud and clear) and presses on the pointed tip (you bite your lip and shut your eyes) and he whispers (“They’re beautiful”).   
  
::   
  
When the boys leave to get you food, Zayn stays behind and sits next to you (your shoulders are touching and his warmth makes you smile). His eyes are fixed on the wall and he asks you (“Do you need anything?”) and you slide your hand to cover his and you twine your fingers together (you’re glad he doesn’t pull back) and you turn to him with a smile (“I need you”).   
  
::   
  
They’re growing at a faster rate and your body can’t take the sudden changes it’s undergoing (the migraines are constant and you’re bleeding again) but this time, there’s Zayn to pick up the pieces and he holds you tight and run his fingers through your hair and whispers softly in your ear (“Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll fix it”). You believe him for a second but then you feel like your back’s breaking in half and you’re starting to think that nothing can fix it (you thank him anyway because his smile makes you feel better).   
  
::   
  
It takes you two weeks to get used to their growing and you feel confident enough to leave your room (you haven’t been out in forever and you feel like you’re in an entirely different place). They’ve grown as long as your arm and you’re leaving feathers everywhere (Zayn picks them up and puts them in a jar next to his bed) and you strap them down with four belts (even though they’re not enough). None of your shirts fit you anymore and Zayn cuts holes on the backs, and it takes you thirty minutes to figure out how to slip one on (Zayn helps you put them through and you don’t know what you’ll do without him).   
  
::   
  
You look at yourself in the mirror and you can’t recognize the reflection (you’re too thin and your face is starting to hollow), but the wings are heavy and thick and full (they’re sucking the life right out of you) and you turn your eyes away and strap them back down (Zayn tells you they’re beautiful but you can’t stand to see them).   
  
::   
  
You’re feeling well enough to perform again (you miss the stage and the boys miss you) and you do better than you expected (you jump and wave your arms and you don’t feel a thing). Adrenaline fills every bone in your body and when Louis puts his arm around your shoulders, he steps back, surprised (he misses his line and you hear Liam fill in the silence), and it’s then that you feel the wings wriggling under the restraints (they’re trying to break free) and you stop and search for Zayn’s eyes (you want him to tell you that everything’s fine). They fill you with worry and the belts are getting tighter against your skin (they’re angry, very angry) and you drop the microphone and rush back into the dressing room. The moment you take the belts off, they spread apart and flap wildly (the sound is deafening and there’s feathers flying everywhere). You start panicking and you grab them by the ends to hold them down (it’s like they have a mind of their own), and you see Zayn pushing through the door (his eyes are as wide and confused as yours). He runs to you and wraps his arms around your back, trying hard to press them down, and you’re yelling in his ears (“They’re not stopping!”) and he’s shushing you and telling you (“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay”) and you nod and bury your face in his neck (you believe every word he says and you start crying because you don’t want to be a monster).   
  
::   
  
You stare at the scissors in your hand (their sharpness almost breaks the skin on your fingers) and Zayn knocks on your door (it’s open but he knows you don’t want to be disturbed). He walks inside and sees them (you’re not sure yourself but the thought attracts you) and slowly takes them off your hand (“You don’t have to do that, Harry, we can figure something out together”). He puts them away and he scoops you up in his arms, gently running his fingers through the feathers (you inhale his scent and it makes you forget that there’s wings threatening to break your body in half).   
  
::   
  
The boys invite you to eat and hang out and you decline (they’re growing bigger and they’re getting harder to hide), telling them to have fun while the night’s young (you want to go, you really do). Zayn stays behind and keeps you company, his arms around your shoulders while you eat ice cream and watch a comedy you’ve seen a million times (you love the sound of his laugh). As the night drags on, he’s inching closer until you can feel his heartbeat on your arm (it’s fast, really fast), and you look at him and he stares right back (there’s a want in his eyes that makes your heart race). Without warning, he leans in and presses his lips against yours, and your wings start to flutter, mimicking the butterflies bursting to life in your chest (his lips are soft and warm and everything you thought it would be). Your wings spread as he slides under you and your hands search for his body under his clothes (you want his warmth, his touch, his everything). He presses kiss after kiss on your neck, your shoulder, your back until flames are licking every inch of your skin and you arch your back and feel his hands on your waist, tender lips on your chest (your entire body’s engulfed in flames and you want to stay like this forever) and your wings close around you as he takes you down and makes love to you for the first time.   
  
::   
  
You wake up in Zayn’s arms and your legs are a tangled mess, and when he stirs and watches you through squinted eyes, you move closer and smile at him (last night was perfect and you wish it didn’t have to end).   
  
  
::   
  
You sit on the roof and feel the air on your skin for the first time in forever (it feels good and you don’t know how you managed to go on without it). You spread your wings, letting the wind rustle the feathers, and the sound they make soothes you (it’s like whispers in your ears). They beat against the wind and you wonder what it’s like to fly.   
  
::   
  
They’re growing faster and faster (they reach down to the backs of your knees) and you’re bedridden again (they’re too heavy and throw off your balance and you’re running a fever). Niall brings you food and Zayn replaces the towel on your forehead religiously (you try to eat but you can’t keep it down), and you grip his shirt tight when you feel them ripping your back in two (the pain is blinding and you can feel the blood burning your skin).   
  
::   
  
Zayn carries you straight to the emergency room (his eyes are red and there’s a spot of blood on his cheek) and you scream when you’re put on a stretcher (you can’t feel anything but pain and you want to rip them out and burn them to ashes). Zayn’s talks frantically with the doctor as you’re wheeled into a room with white curtains (his voice is broken and it’s because of you). You can feel hands touching your wings and they send sharp needles down your back and you try to push them away (but you’re too weak and they ignore you). The doctor’s saying something you can’t make out (there’s too much going on and you just want to go home) and someone dabs at your back with a wet towel (they don’t know the meaning of gentle and every touch feels like knives through your skin). Your hands reach for Zayn and he takes them, holds them close to his heart (“Just hold on, Harry”) and you nod and squeeze his hands and swallow your tears (Zayn’s lifted enough of your burden and you have to stay strong this time).   
  
::   
  
You’re on your side on the hospital bed and Zayn’s looking at you, holding your hand tight (he’s been crying and you want more than anything to tell him you’re fine, that he doesn’t have to worry anymore). Your entire back’s numb from the anesthetic (they make you forget you ever had pain since it all began) but they still feel uncomfortable (they don’t belong, they never did) and you take deep breaths to slow down your heartbeat (it’s pounding against your ribcage like it’s about to burst). You nod at Zayn and he looks up and nods to the doctor (his face is indescribable and for a moment, you get the urge to tell him you’ve changed your mind), and when he turns back to you, he gives you a kiss on the forehead and tells you (“You’ll be fine, I’ll be right here”). You shut your eyes (you don’t want to see the look on his eyes when it happens) and squeeze his hand tight when the doctor makes the first incision.   
  
::   
  
You’re in the hospital for three weeks and the boys visit you as often as they can with flowers and treats in tow (the smell envelops the room and you’re thankful for friends like them). They try to make you laugh, tell you crazy stories of things that happened while you were away (Niall got so drunk one night, he slept in the pavement and Liam made out with three girls all at the same time), and you laugh and tell them you feel bad for missing it (you feel bad for a lot of things but you don’t want to think about them right now). Zayn’s sitting beside you almost every day and he keeps you company (he reads you stories and sings you to sleep). You kiss him and ask (“Where are they?”), and he runs his fingers through your hair and kisses you back (“They’re at home waiting for you”).   
  
::   
  
They’re sitting at the center of your bed when you get back and you feel Zayn’s hand closing over yours (you feel too light and you’re glad he’s there to keep you from floating). He walks you over and you run a hand over the feathers (they’ve lost their luster but you’ve gained back yours), and you know it’s mad but you can still feel them on your back (like a war hero who’s lost an arm). You pick them up and they’re light, lighter than they felt before (fifty pounds of rocks wrapped up in a delicate, white package), and feathers drop down from them like leaves in the spring (they’re old and dry and the bristles are separating). You feel Zayn’s arm wrapping around your shoulders and you turn to him (“I want to bury them”). He smiles and nods and lifts them off your fingers (“We’ll have a ceremony”).   
  
::   
  
The boys gather around you as you shovel dirt over them (it reminds you when you first saw them sticking out of your shoulder blades but this time it’s different), and it’s then that you cut the connection and you finally feel free (the feeling’s returning to your back and you can’t help but smile).   
  
::   
  
Sometimes, you wonder what it would have been like if you’d have kept them (let them grow out until they can carry you the way they did in your dream) and every now and then, you catch glimpses of feathers when you pass by the mirror (Zayn’s turned one of them into a necklace and he wears it every day), but when you think about him — his touch, his voice, his kiss, his smile — you already know what it feels like to fly.


End file.
